


20 - Glide

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Day 20, Friendship/Love, Frottage, Healing, M/M, Massage, natural progression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock is in pain so John comes up with a way to help ease it. It leads to a place they were always heading to.





	20 - Glide

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 100th fic I've posted on A03

It began innocently enough, after all, John had been helping Sherlock recuperate for weeks now, of course, he was going to try everything he could think of to ease Sherlock’s suffering. His body was so damaged and John had apologised endlessly for the wounds he’d added to the toll. Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it so John found other ways to say he was sorry. He did a bit of research, mostly online, but then John offered and Sherlock had accepted, now here they were.

John ran his hands over Sherlock’s bare back, smoothing the oils evenly, calmly. He’d given backrubs to girlfriends and wasn’t a stranger to them but this wasn’t about an erotic experience, this was about trying to help Sherlock move properly again, to nudge his body into understanding that keeping itself twisted up with pain wasn’t necessary any longer, and that the torture was over. They’d stripped down to their pants because this was a bit messy and it was just easier than trying to shift around fully clothed on the bed. John was gentle as he settled himself on Sherlock’s firm thighs. The detective’s once flawless back was a ruin of lash marks and assorted pits and gashes. The muscles beneath hadn’t been spared and the scar tissue made Sherlock stiff and prone to stress headaches due to the relentless complaints from his back.

The medicines had worked but couldn’t be relied on forever. Sherlock was healing well but more care was definitely needed. His cracked ribs were doing well but he couldn’t strain himself, not that John would let him. The doctor did everything for Sherlock, lavishing care and affection on him, encouraging him to simply heal. _He’d done enough. It was time to let John shoulder the load until Sherlock was well enough to stand beside him once again._ It hadn’t been easy but Sherlock finally agreed, allowing John to dote and fuss, changing his bandages and attending physical therapy classes together. It wasn’t as if John didn’t also have problems but they weren’t immediate like Sherlock’s.

John worked his hands slowly down Sherlock’s back, testing with little pushes of his fingertips, “Ow! John!” protested Sherlock immediately, “It’s tender there!”

“It’s tender everywhere, that’s why I’m doing this,” snapped John, “Just…give it a minute, alright?”

“I am still flexible enough to kick you right in the back the second I decide I don’t like this, remember that, Watson!”

“Stop being such a child. This is for your own good!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You always have to have the last word.” John began in the middle, uncertain as to how to start. He’d tried to choose a location that didn’t seem too gnarled but it had been impossible. The main scars were ridged and knobby and they overshadowed the hundreds of tiny scars that turned Sherlock’s whole back into a minefield of damaged nerves and inflexible tissue. Only a few were still angry looking, red and unhappy, most were bloodless and pale, blatant reminders of lingering agony.

“No, I don’t.”

John just let him have it. _If it made Sherlock relax because he felt he’d scored a point, then fine_. Concentrating on the task at hand, John began to rub. Sherlock complained and scolded, yelped and shouted but pointedly did not kick John in the back. In fact, Sherlock seemed to be exorcising a lot of annoyances and all of it was causing him to relax more and more as the built up frustrations poured off and disappeared. John kept rubbing.

When Sherlock was no longer twitching with agitation, John added more oil. He’d gotten a brand that had as few additives as he could find, not wanting to disturb the healing of Sherlock’s back by accidentally irritating it. Now that he’d soothed Sherlock a bit, John moved onto the next phase, his attempt to unknot some of the muscles who had become recalcitrant and stubborn and had left Sherlock unable to bend easily or move with any sort of grace. He hadn’t complained until he accidentally confessed that he hadn’t been able to play his violin, something he wanted to practice for reasons that John didn’t want to discuss. They had long since turned not talking about things into an art form.

Sherlock sighed as John began to work the muscles by group. He was becoming quieter, less twitchy, less anxious. John felt him grow limp and lax beneath him and without thinking, John leant over and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck. “Mmm, nice,” hummed Sherlock. He sounded almost sleepy now, “Another one, John.”

John kissed Sherlock’s shoulder this time, following it with his hands, gripping and squeezing carefully. He wasn’t sure what he was about. He hadn’t even thought about being with Sherlock this way but it just seemed like the right thing to do. John decided that his subconscious had taken the wheel and that it was a good thing. It was time to stop dancing around the obvious truth that Sherlock and John really ought to just be _SherlockandJohn_. They were only ever right with each other. To seal their unspoken deal, John kissed Sherlock’s back directly over his heart and felt Sherlock chuckle, and knew that Sherlock had understood. It was just one more thing they didn’t need to talk about.

If Sherlock had begun to relax before he definitely did so now. Like a great cat, he melted into the mattress, boneless and splayed out. John concentrated hard on the massage, working one area after another before returning to the start and doing it all over again. He worked Sherlock’s shoulders, following tension and eradicating it where he could. Sherlock’s flesh grew warm and rosy as the blood began to flow easier as each cramped knot was undone.

John shifted himself back, kneeling over Sherlock’s calves as he worked over Sherlock’s arse and thighs. He kissed each plump cheek but kept his touches focused on the necessary massage. Today wasn’t the day for that kind of fun. Sherlock seemed to disagree and made his protest know by twisting himself around until he was face up, “That’s the easiest I’ve been able to do that in months, John.” Sherlock’s face was flushed but sincere, “I haven’t been able to roll over without using my arms in weeks. Look what you’ve done!”

John looked. Sherlock’s face had lost that strained look that had been on it far too long. He was smiling and he looked so much younger now that he wasn’t pinched with pain. “Want me to do more?”

Now Sherlock looked hesitant, “If you do, there might be consequences.” His glance darted downward for a fraction of a second but John just shrugged, “Then proceed, doctor.”

John leaned over and kissed Sherlock’s mouth for the first time, just pressing their lips together. When he sat back, John could see the clearly fond look in Sherlock’s eyes, and no trace of personal discomfort. “I look forward to the consequences.”

Flirtations aside, John still took the massage seriously. There was no point leaving any sections improperly tended to, the idea was to help Sherlock’s entire body heal, not just bits of it. John worked his arms again and then his torso, keeping his hands moving in a clinical way but still leaning forward frequently to kiss Sherlock again and again, just simple little pecks that Sherlock seemed to enjoy.

Sherlock was aroused but it didn’t trouble John. He was well on his way as well but that was just a good thing. Sherlock lifted his hips and John tugged his pants off, revealing the half-hard cock it had been containing. John managed to get his off as well, shifting himself closer until they were pressed together, hardening completely as a pair. “That’s lovely.” Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.

Their skins slid against the other’s, hot, oily, and marvellous. Sherlock lay there, suffused with the warmth and scent of John. Their kisses had grown from small shy exchanges to consuming devouring ravenous demands. John reached down first, grasping his own cock and lining it up against Sherlock’s so that when he rocked his hips, they fucked across each other. It made Sherlock give a rumbling groan. It was slick at the same time, it was exquisite, intimate.

John lay on him again and this time their cocks were side by side. John gyrated slowly, carefully, and Sherlock moaned all over again. John found that he loved taking him apart. The clever doctor leant down further, lavishing attention on Sherlock’s collar bones, his chest, his nipples, still managing to rock and twist exactly the right way to keep the pressure going.

John sat back, his legs beneath Sherlock’s to keep the detective spread wide. Carefully, John grasped them both and pushed their cockheads together. Stroking carefully, John slowly rubbed their frenulum across the other’s and it was brilliant. Hesitant at first, Sherlock reached for John’s, toying with his foreskin until he’d slide it down enough to expose John more. His head was shiny, glistening. Sherlock ran his thumb over John’s meatus several times and it made the soldier sigh and move faster, more desperately.

Sherlock’s hands were bigger so he wrapped his long fingers around both of them, masturbating with strokes that he clearly enjoyed and that John did too. The soldier was breathing hard and between every panting breath he heard an almost inaudible moan. John saw their cocks had grown dangerously dark, the heads almost purple with blood. He’d never been so hard.

“I’m close,” John gritted out.

“Together?” It seemed that one word was all that Sherlock could manage.

John didn’t answer. He lay on Sherlock again, trapping their cocks together. John’s hips buck and Sherlock grunted as the shock of pleasure jolted through him. He looked incredible, red-cheeked and gasping. John rutted again and a similar shock followed. John began to thrust and grind, their precum causing a wet sloppy sound to develop but they didn’t care, not then.

They tried to kiss but they were breathing too hard. John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s cheek as they strained, rubbing and thrusting, twisting and rolling their hips to keep the contact optimal. “Sherlock.” John was biting at his shoulder now, “Sherlock, I…”

“John!” The desperation in Sherlock’s voice was gorgeous. John’s cock was fucking across Sherlock’s rhythmically, the pace fast and reckless now as they grew closer to the finish, “Together, John!” They couldn’t wait any longer. They’d put this off for so long, too long, and now that they’d finally come to this, neither had patience nor stamina. “John!”

“Sherlock,” John almost sat back up, his back arching. They both managed to look down just in time to see the tip of John’s cock almost disappear inside his own foreskin before it thrust forward, this time spitting out a thick curl of come directly onto Sherlock. With a wordless cry, Sherlock began to come too.

A large stream of it shot from his cock, landing in a sticky string that reached from his navel to his throat. John was still gasping and shuddering, his come puddling into Sherlock belly button, joining his semen, the small pool quickly overflowing and running off to the side. Sherlock was moaning softly, his body twitching again but not with pain. When his eyes opened, John couldn’t look away. Sherlock’s eyes were dark and stormy, filled with questions that he knew he didn’t need to utter, “Yes.” John answered, “All of it.”

They didn’t need to talk about it. They understood. Words were unnecessary. They were _JohnandSherlock_ and it was enough.


End file.
